


Call It Fate

by stoplightglow



Category: Bandom, Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Album), My Chemical Romance
Genre: Gen, Omens & Portents, Podfic Welcome, Tarot, i tagged character death even though we all know the killjoys die
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-17
Updated: 2018-11-17
Packaged: 2019-08-25 00:50:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16651126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stoplightglow/pseuds/stoplightglow
Summary: Party Poison flips over the top card without much delicacy, holding it at arm’s length and inspecting it. Inlaid on its blood red background is a round cog that can only belong to Destroya, but the four symbols surrounding it are foreign. “Wheel of Fortune,” Poison reads aloud. “But it’s upside down. What’s that mean?”





	Call It Fate

**Author's Note:**

> this concept originally started with the intention of making a major arcana killjoys tarot set, but then i was struck down by the reality of my own lack of time and artistic talent, so this happened instead. but for the love of all things holy, if you want to make any of these cards, _please _do. and _please _send them to me.____
> 
> ____as always, thanks to[nat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/corruptedkid) for beta._ _ _ _

Party Poison flips over the top card without much delicacy, holding it at arm’s length and inspecting it. Inlaid on its blood red background is a round cog that can only belong to Destroya, but the four symbols surrounding it are foreign. “Wheel of Fortune,” Poison reads aloud. “But it’s upside down. What’s that mean?” 

From the diner’s run-down kitchen, Fun Ghoul startles out a laugh. “You make any enemies recently?”

Poison’s fingers twitch towards the raygun holstered against his thigh, its plasma cartridge still buzzing from this morning’s firefight: himself, Kobra, and five Dracs in a van so white it was blinding. They landed more rays than they took, but it wasn’t an entirely clean operation. Never is. “Maybe. What’s that got to do with it?”

There’s a loud  _ crack, _ like Ghoul opening a can the hard way. “If you’ve already got pigs gunning for you, sweetheart, you don’t want to know.”

Poison’s been kicking up dust with Ghoul long enough to recognize when he’s not going to get a straight answer — at least until Ghoul’s got some Power Pup in his system — so he picks up another card. On it is a beautiful, long-haired droid, more complex than anything he’s seen in a dirty magazine ad. “The High Priestess,” he says, loud enough to be heard over Ghoul’s obnoxious chewing. 

Ghoul snorts. “Yeah? Figures.”

It’s probably meant to be an insult, but the Priestess droid is a wonder in and of herself, so Poison takes it in stride. He picks up the next card in the stack with a more refined movement and flips it over, cupping it in his palm so he only has to use one hand. 

When his vision focuses, he nearly drops it.

From his palm stares the Phoenix Witch. In front of beady eyes and wispy feathers, Her greedy hands reach toward his mask, gnarled knuckles ready to take all that he has. His blood runs as cold as a desert night. Even after he squeezes his eyes shut, he can still see it: at the bottom in bold, sand-worn letters reads DEATH. 

Poison realizes he’s shaking.

“Come on, you need at least three for a full reading,” Ghoul nags from out of sight, unaware of what he’s missing. “I was just starting to get invested. What’s next?”

As quickly as his fingers can manage, Poison crinkles the card and stuffs it in his jacket’s innermost pocket, as if that will keep it secret even from himself. He picks from the deck again. “Temperance,” he calls, hoping his voice won’t give him away.

A cabinet slams and Ghoul clucks his tongue. “Alright, now I’m calling bullshit.”

*

Poison sets up a stand made of cans and burns a hole dead center through the card the next morning. By noon, he feels something stiff in his jacket again. It’s back. The Phoenix Witch is completely unscathed. Maybe a little smug.

He rips it to shreds, and it stitches itself back together even faster. He sneaks out and rides deep into the desert to bury it six feet under, but by the time he gets back, it’s sitting in a pile of sand on top of his sleeping bag.

No one answers his prayers. No one tells him what it means. He keeps it where the others won’t find it, and within a month, its thick paper has softened enough that he can’t feel it against his chest. He accepts it as an eventuality. 

It’s a mistake. He should have known better than to take a deep breath. 

A firefight goes Costa Rica, and Better Living takes the Girl.

He’s never seen his three brothers so outside of themselves before, and Poison thinks he must be out of his mind too, because it’s his idea to break into Better Living — it’s his plan to hit the ground shooting and worry about the rest once they’ve got blood in their eyes. 

They break in. They take lives. They find her.

It’s only once Korse has the dead end of his blaster against Poison’s throat, pure white like Heaven surely isn’t, that he remembers. He can feel it, all of a sudden, the heavy weight of the Phoenix Witch over his heart. Her hands are real now, withered and sun-dried and reaching forward to take him somewhere else. He’s struck by how wrong it was to have ever forgotten.

The world transforms into a breaking desert sky, colors more vivid than even the years directly after the Helium Wars. It’s just the two of them, stood on opposite sides of an infinite space, yet somehow close enough to touch. 

He’s a Killjoy. He should fight this. But when he opens his mouth to protest, what tumbles out instead is, “Are they coming?”

The Phoenix Witch opens Her eyes all the way, and they’re pure black, entirely unreflective. “Did you say goodbye?”

Poison shakes his head.

“Good.” A bandage around Her arm unravels and falls, disintegrating before it can even hit the dunes. “It’s better that way.”

Poison clears his throat. “I have to keep them safe.”

“You have,” She says. “You did. You knew this was coming.”

When She tugs at his mask, he tilts his head down and lets Her. There is no hiding here. Still, he keeps his fingers curled around his blaster; nowhere is ever as peaceful as it appears. 

“Will I see them again?”

“If you know where to look.” A feather escapes from Her headdress and floats in the nonexistent wind, settling on a direction and pointing. “Come, now.” 

In the seconds he has left, Poison sends up a silent prayer, asking Destroya to keep his brothers and their girl out of this sandplane and the next. Meager, but it’s all he can offer. He knows this is it.

The Phoenix Witch beckons with a crooked finger. Poison takes a step forward, and his feet sink endlessly into the sand.


End file.
